Nature Over Nurture
by Ol3and3r
Summary: ckpic.g[/img] The origin story of an infamous Lestrange, Nature Over Nurture is a reminiscent look at how the Gryffindor Princess came to fulfill her true destiny as Arista Lestrange.


Sitting in a flat, staring out a window overlooking a dirty backstreet of London, a writer toys with a recorder. His mind drifts back to the events of that afternoon. He had been led into a fine sitting room by a humble little house elf and informed that "the missus" would be with him shortly. Looking around the room, he had marveled that he was even offered such an opportunity. He was set to interview one of the most influential parties in the last great wizarding war. His attention had lingered on the entrance eager to see the woman so few had the opportunity to meet these days.

Opening both French doors wide, she had glided into the room. The doors had closed softly behind her, clearly by wandless magic. Her elegance and refinement reminded him of Narcissa Black-Malfoy; both women carried themselves with such poise. Her beauty was unmatched—she had a fantasy-worthy hourglass figure, flawless fair skin, and flowing ebony locks. As she looked at him, he could not keep himself from becoming captivated in the piercing green gaze she levied against him. Taking a step towards her to get his host, the man felt suddenly very inadequate. His hostess had extended her hand to him with a knowing smirk on her plump cherry red lips.

"Welcome to my home, sir. Thank you for accepting my invitation." Her clear soprano filled room. Still a bit unnerved by her presence, he had managed to mumble something resembling thank you. She had laughed at his behavior, joking how she hoped he was able to write better than he spoke. Gesturing for him to sit down, she placed herself on a nearby chaise lounge and began to speak indicating he should begin recording.

The memory of her body laying there before him distracted him still. He could not help his body's reaction to the woman. She was dangerous, beautiful, and extremely powerful. Any man—and quite a few women—would react to her just as strongly. Looking down at the recorder and pulling himself from the memory, he pressed the play button. The man was unable to suppress the shiver that shot down his spin as her voice filled his flat.

 _This will be a conversation of sorts… I have a gift for speaking, but lose some of my eloquence as I try to put everything down on paper. So, I will speak and you will write—and we, we will create something great. Make yourself comfortable; are you ready to begin?_

 _This will be my personal account of how I became Arista Lestrange and why that changed everything._

 _I was always warned to be careful what I wish for. It seems now it would have been wise to heed that advice. It seems foolish to think that I believed I was in control; I was his every step of the way. Admittedly, I was the perfect puppet for him. Not only did I supposedly represent everything that he opposed, I was the most loved friend of his greatest enemy. Ironically enough, who I was would be defined by my birth—by the blood that ran through my veins. I was the product of one of the most esteemed matches of the wizarding world: Rodolphus Lestrange and the eldest Black sister._

 _It should have been obvious to everyone at Hogwarts that I was not a muggleborn. The best and brightest of my generation! While I was always thirsty for more book knowledge, I held a wealth of natural talent— every aspect of wizardry came easy to me. Wand movements were second nature; spells rolled off my tongue as if they were my native language. Even wandless magic was natural for me. I admit early in school I strove to do well and was the best, but truly never had to try to maintain that position. The only competition was the Slytherin Prince—and he was the epitome of pureblood selective breeding. Both the Black and Malfoy bloodlines—what could be better?_

 _It surprises me still that I was even admitted into the school. Dumbledore had used so many memory modifications and glamours to hide my existence from the rest of the wizarding world; why take that risk? He was foolish to think I could be controlled by the likes of him. Naïve old man believed in nurture over nature…He could not have been more wrong. All his glamours fell at my first use of an Unforgivable. Interesting that such a curse would bring us full circle—I am taken from her, faced with one another neither realizes the connection, she tortures me, I plan to torture her, but simply using the curse breaks all the magic Dumbledore used to hide me._

 _Did you know our wands had dragon heartstring cores? From the same dragon, of course. Lucky, I suppose; it made it so effortless to use her wand. Just as sure as my wand responded to me in Olivander's, this wand called to me. I understand now that it recognized the Black blood in me. Sitting there staring out at the ocean grasping that unyielding walnut wand, I could not resist giving into the allure of her magic—of my family's magic._

 _It wasn't long after escaping Malfoy Manor that I managed to finally slip away from Harry. Alone outside at the Shell Cottage, I decided to take the risk. I could say that it was because of my mother's wand—the wand that not a day earlier had been used against me to cast the very spell I was secretly planning to practice. But it wasn't. The magic inside me was aching to get out. Harry had failed to cast the cruciatus curse once before, but I refused to go into another fight without being fully prepared. I had felt the effects of that curse and I fully intended on returning the favor to the woman who had so eagerly used it on me._

 _Closing my eyes, I pictured her wild hair and piercing black eyes; her shrill laugh rang in my ears as I fingered her wand. There was no hesitation when I saw a small crab wandering by. "CRUCIO!" My eyes widened with wonder as I saw the crab spasming before me. The power coursing through my veins was overwhelming. I had never felt more alive. It felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off me and for the first time in my life I was in touch with who it was I was meant to be. I cannot imagine what the series of events would have looked like to a bystander. I walked out on to that beach a bushy haired bookworm, but left it a transformed woman—physically, emotionally, and mentally._

 _The change was instantaneous. There were no swirls of shimmering light, no gusts of wind. There was no long drawn out magical showcase, one moment I was Hermione Jean Granger contemplating casting a spell and the next I was Arista Dominica Black-Lestrange torturing a small animal on the beach. Long smooth straight hair fell around my shoulders. Even without properly seeing it, I knew my hair now rivaled Narcissa Malfoy's—sleek, smooth, and full. The dark contrasted dramatically against my pale skin. Grazing my hands over my face, I could feel the structural differences—a stronger jawline, more defined cheekbones. Reaching into my ever present beaded bag, I pulled out a mirror. One deep breath later, I gazed into my own reflection—finding no resemblance to the girl I had been up to that point. Hermione's honey brown eyes had been replaced with heavy-lidded piercing, fierce eyes colored the legendary Lestrange emerald green— Gazing at my reflection, the resemblance to Narcissa, Draco, and Bellatrix was a bit shocking. My facial structure clearly identified me as a Black. There was no doubt about whom I was or where I had come from._

 _My reflections were interrupted as Harry made his way out of the cottage towards the ocean. Not recognizing me, he immediately drew the wand he carried and took a defensive stance. I immediately recognized the wand as Draco's. I knew there would be no chance Harry had the control or connection to that wand that I had to my mother's. I shook my head—"No, Harry, stop! You don't understand! It's me." The voice hung in the salty air not familiar, even to me._

 _Harry being the brash, careless child he always was launched on the offense, shooting a series of easily deflected spells in my direction—as always, he was refusing to listen to any reason. "Who are you? What have you done with Hermione?" he growled as he closed the distance between us. "Is everything okay?" an airy voice called from the cottage—Fluer, no doubt. Taking advantage of the distraction, I disarmed Harry with a simple expelliarmus. Accio-ing Draco's wand to me, I admit i did relish the feeling of it in my hand. It responded well to me, not as well as my own or my mother's, but certainly better than I am sure it had for Harry._

 _Fear shown momentarily in Harry's eyes—so briefly that I almost missed seeing it all. He feared me. In that moment, I knew Harry would never see me the same anymore. I would never again be the trusted friend, girl of the Golden Trio, the Gryffindor Princess. He could not see me as I was before, but only saw me as an heir to the Lestrange and Black families—and that meant I was the enemy. Not knowing what else to do, I apparated away with a pop focused on the only location I could think of at that moment: Malfoy Manor._


End file.
